supported her when she’d searched for her birth parents—and had been there when both of them had turned out to be less than she’d hoped for. He’d wrapped her in his arms when she’d had her heart broken twice. And when she’d had a cruel diagnosis a few years ago that had messed with her head.
Of course she would be here for him. Her heart was breaking for him—but she wouldn’t let him see that. Here, she had to be the strong one. Duc had played the role for her time and time again, and this time she would do it for him.
Even if everything in this quaint house reminded her in every way of both his parents.
She breathed deeply. She could even smell them here—the jasmine tea they always drank, the sandalwood cologne his father always wore, and the rose-scented spray his mother used in the rooms. Vivienne blinked. The truth was that she expected them to walk through the door at any moment. And if she felt like that, she could only imagine how Duc was feeling.
She reached over and grabbed his hand. ‘Duc, are you sure about staying here? About being here?’
On a table was a framed picture of Duc and his parents together. In another corner was a pile of books that one of his parents must have been reading. A popular fiction novel, a historical romance, a book about alternative therapies and a research journal about obstetrics.
He turned around to look at her, leaving her case in the middle of the sitting room. For the first time she realised just how tired he looked. ‘Where else can I go? I’ve have to cover shifts at the hospital.’ He looked almost apologetic. ‘And so do you.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. I’m ready to start tomorrow. Just tell me what you need me to do.’ She gave him a careful stare. ‘There isn’t anywhere else you can stay but here?’
He looked around and held out his hands. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s home. It’s not my home,’ he said quickly, ‘but it’s theirs. And I can’t stay anywhere else.’
He stepped forward and tugged her case. ‘I’ve put you in here. I changed the beds...’ He pulled a face. ‘Actually, that’s not true. Mai Ahn, our interpreter, came in and did everything. I think she just wanted to help and, to be honest, I’m really glad she did.’
He was accepting help. Good. Duc could be stubborn sometimes, his intense pride getting in the way of things. She wasn’t sure quite what kind of relationship he had with the people who worked here, but at least he wasn’t shutting everyone out.
Viv moved towards the room. It only took an instant to realise the room had belonged to Khiem and Hoa. Their belongings were still scattered at various points around the place. A pair of shoes neatly tucked under a chair. Another book on the bedside table. A notepad with some scribbles next to the phone in the room. She gulped, feeling a little overwhelmed. Of course she could object—but Duc was obviously using the other room. Objecting would just make things more difficult for him.
She pressed her lips together for a second then turned and gave him a bright smile. ‘Okay, let me get showered, then we can talk.’
There was the briefest of pauses. Talking was the last thing Duc clearly wanted to do. But she wasn’t going to be put off. She was here to help, and she couldn’t do that by not talking. Duc knew her better than that anyhow.
She walked back over and stood underneath his nose. ‘No, I’m not too tired. No, I don’t want to do anything else first. Find me some food, and I’m all yours.’ She nudged him with her elbow. ‘No excuses.’
He let out a sigh. It was clear she’d won this battle. ‘No excuses,’ he agreed as he strode through to the kitchen and started opening cupboards.
* * *
He hadn’t eaten properly in the last three days. He hadn’t been hungry, and it had been the last thing on his mind. But as he pulled some food from the cupboards and fridge, splashed some oil into the wok, his stomach let out an involuntary rumble.
He heard the sound of the running shower, closely followed by the blast of the hairdryer. Vivienne was quick, opening the door with her hair in a red cloud around her head and wearing a pair of soft white cotton pyjamas. She glanced towards the table and tiled floor, then moved across to the sofa and sagged down on the comfortable cushions, pulling her feet up. Duc was already serving up into two bowls. He handed her the chicken and noodle mixture then sat down next to her on the sofa.
She warily sniffed her dish. ‘Okay, is this edible?’
He smiled. ‘What are you trying to say about my cooking?’
‘I say that for as long as I’ve known you, your cooking has always involved a takeout menu.’
He pretended to look hurt. ‘Try it. It’s one of my mother’s recipes.’
The words came out of nowhere, quickly followed by the tumbleweed that seemed to blow across the room in front of him.
Viv’s hand reached over and gave his knee a quick squeeze. ‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ she said quietly, as she started to eat.
Every spoonful was an unconscious reminder. He’d used the spices and oils from his mother’s cupboards. The pangs of hunger he’d felt for a few moments instantly vanished. Now he understood why grieving friends lost weight. It was so easy to be distracted—to be put off.
Vivienne was different—she ate hungrily, emptying the bowl in five minutes. She stood up and walked over to the fridge, examining the contents before pulling out a bottle of spring water. ‘This wasn’t what I had in mind,’ she said as she held it up, ‘but I’ll make do.’
He watched as she rested one hand on the chair. Her white cotton pyjamas might cover every part of her, but they still highlighted every curve. Curves he’d never really paid any attention to before—and he was currently asking himself why.
The lines between him and Vivienne had been clear from the beginning. They were friends—best friends. He’d held her hair back while she’d been sick, she’d put him up when his roommate had wrecked their apartment and they’d been flung out. From the word go, they’d felt comfortable around each other. They’d had countless conversations over the years about Viv’s disastrous relationships. She was smart. She was gorgeous. She was sassy. And she had appalling taste in men.
Every no-good layabout, sob-story-carrying wastrel seemed to cross her path. Each one breaking her heart more than the one before.
Viv had also cast her eyes over Duc’s partners over the years. Some she’d been grudgingly approving of, others had been dismissed with a wave of a hand and a few perceptive words. Gold-digger. Stalker. Needs a backbone. Self-obsessed.
He, in turn, grudgingly admitted that on most occasions those few words had turned out to be uncannily accurate. He’d started to call her the fortune teller and tease her to pick their lottery numbers.
But she hadn’t seen this coming.
The door rattled behind them and Lien burst through the door. ‘Good, you’re here. I need you.’
Lien’s eyes went hastily to Vivienne and she gave a little start.
Duc stepped forward. ‘Lien, this is Vivienne Kerr, my friend, the midwife that I told you about.’
Lien gave
